Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I once met a man who himself not to dream
What he seems to have was a glimpse of everything
He's been painting pictures on canvas age thirteen
And claims he only in the mind of a higher being
And I enjoy his work; scenic landscapes
But each one is focused on an easel where the man paints painting himself
And all that's in his field
He said this was the only way he could make himself
Ever he could remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
But until about ten years ago, it matter
It consisted of loud, distorted echoing off the concrete
He ran on top of it in attempt to a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but never his destination
Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't what it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene from a eye
to witness his dead body laying on the cement

It was only to witness his dead body on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but after a while he content
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and kept his life
Writing his soul on the canvas it sheds his planet light
And it goes on and on like space and time, ain't odd
It's not he didn't believe, he just didn't approve of God
His experience was one I couldn't
I stopped being detective and listened to him as a friend
He

He saw a painting that told his whole life story
It was then he knew he was the art of divinity
He once saw a that told his whole life story
A brush of the gods made him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
He spoke for himself and not the rest of
He once saw a that told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God just me

like I said
About ten years ago, the event that his whole reality
Took place on his monthly trip to the art gallery
It was where he studied his contemporaries
And there where he nearly carried his to a hole and buried it forever
It was a mysterious day
The place was almost
And he got chills down his spine being present in the scene
On the wall, there was a picture that familiar
And when he got close, his stopped
he saw it was a painting of his dream
It was a painting of his
His on a runway
By a ladder to an with its propellers spinning
Which accounted for the noise
The match up was
And that was the day he stopped in existing
He resented his
I mean, words can't
What must have went on in his while he stared into a frame
Of a of art which he created and was at the same time
The mind handle that much, it's just insane
It's like reading a where each words describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it reads whatever you say when you
You think it can't
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide in each life's sidewalk
He upon an answer when he never had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to his mental health
Now he talks to people
Just in his basement
Writing infinity, by painting
himself
This is a strange
Is it all just a
In the real universe, is my useless?
Are we really a higher intelligence made up?
A figment of imagination colored by a cosmic
Maybe all of our art creates the fate of beings
Then every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were gods
blindly
Just a
I don't know it means
But that's the story of the man who himself not to dream

He saw a paining that told his whole life story
He witnessed the paradox of the "existing"
He once saw a painting that told his life story
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he living
He once saw a painting that his whole life story
The variable that all that is is art
And when I close my eyes, I see eternity as a
A God imagined the God imagined me
And I am God
And so on